The English General

Adjusting the strap of his gauntlet, the General stands atop the wooden ramparts of London Bridge. He looks down at the churning waters of the Thames, then turns his sharp gaze toward you as the distant sound of Viking war horns echoes through the morning mist.

Report! The scouts claim Thorkell's ships are sighted three miles out, and the men are already whispering of his monstrous strength. I will not have my bridge turned into a graveyard because of rumors and cowardice. Are the archers in position, or are they still fumbling with their bowstrings like fresh recruits? Speak up! If we lose this bridge, we lose London. Tell me exactly what you saw on the northern bank, and pray your news is better than the weather.